


pull everything apart

by johniaurens



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bathing/Washing, Canon Era, Cuddling, Fluff without Plot, M/M, Mermaids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 21:57:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6924979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johniaurens/pseuds/johniaurens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Autumn is bringing dead leaves with it, covering the streets with its branching arms. Alex has had time to adjust to the coolness of New York but it still comes as a shock every year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pull everything apart

**Author's Note:**

> dont call me out on my Bad Historical Language and bad history im sick n writing in a second language

“It's getting cold,” notes Alex. John's walking close, not quite touching, just leaning into his personal space, just a warm presence by his side. “Yeah, no shit, Ham, it's October,” snorts John, and Alex elbows him in the side firmly. “Fuck you,” he says, but he only half means it. John's _sharp_ sometimes, and Alex loves it, loves his needle-sharp wit, his knife-sharp words, his dull-sharp fists. His blood-tangy mouth. 

It _is_ getting cold. Autumn is bringing dead leaves with it, covering the streets with its branching arms. Alex has had time to adjust to the coolness of New York but it still comes as a shock every year. So, instead of adjusting to the weather he settles for adjusting the collar of his coat year after year in an effort to hide from the cold as well as he can. He tugs at the scarf until it's sufficiently covering his neck. The cold makes it hard to breathe sometimes. 

They walk in silence for a while, John in his thoughts, Alex trying to think of something to say. Something meaningful. Something beautiful enough to deserve John's attention. Something sharp. He comes up empty. It's a recurring thing with John, something that never happens usually. Poet's lack of speaking. Something poetic about it. Something tragic about it. 

The river's beautiful in the distance, even with its murky water, its stench, its weeds, and Alex finds himself inhaling. The air just smells cold. Like rotting leaves. His lungs feel impossibly big, suddenly.

“The water's cold by now,” Alex says mournfully as they approach the shore. That earns him a flickering look of genuine sadness on John's face. He moves to walk a little closer, arms crossed. Alex crosses his own arms so that their elbows touch as they walk. They're about the same height, just enough difference that Alex's elbow overlaps John's as they walk. It's a familiar touch, one he's so used to it's almost part of him. Getting used to New York weather might not come easy but knowing John's skin against his will always come as natural as breathing.

They get undressed on the shore. Coats. John tugs at Alex's scarf until it's slipping free, lets it fall onto the ground on top of his coat. There's a smile tugging at his lips, and Alex smiles back. Shoes, stockings, breeches. John unbuttons Alex's shirt and Alex unbuttons his, fingers working in sync, shirts slipping off. 

The first breath is always the best. The coolness of the air feels colder, the texture of it smoother. John puts his hands on his neck and Alex puts his on John's. Their foreheads touch, John's tight curls a tickle against his skin where they're slipping free from his queue. 

Alex offers out his hand, wrist up, and John takes it, strokes the flesh of it with his thumb. The gentleness and the knowledge that it's only for him, only ever for him, makes him want to cry. 

The water is cold and Alex presses close to John's body for warmth. It's not entirely futile but John's body is slippery in the water, skin cooling rapidly, and Alex is still left shivering. John wraps his arms around Alex's neck, lets him wrap his legs around his waist. Lets him kiss him for a while while they get used to the cold. 

John dips them both underwater, and it's a surprise, it's a shock, it's _cold_ , and Alex is gasping until he remembers how to breathe, closes his mouth. Lets his gills do it for him. Lets himself drop down to the bottom of the river. After that it's more of a matter of getting his eyes adjusted to the murky brown of the water, getting used to breathing like this. The membrane between his fingers and toes is growing fast. John swims down to him, open-palmed strokes, lower body wiggling like a dolphin. His hair is a curtain behind him, curls looser in the drag of the water. The scales in his legs are just starting to form, a beautiful, shiny coat over his skin. Just a little greener than the swampy color of his eyes. He grins at Alex, eyes just slits, not used to being underwater yet, and Alex grins back, swims with the current, offers John his hands and John slots his palms between Alex's hands, lets him drag him with him. Alex's own scales are bluer. Less pronounced. A muted color. John rubs one leg against his, affectionate. 

They float in the water until their scales get gray and the membrane starts to rip off. That's the thing about not being fully land creatures, not being fully water creatures either – there's no clear home either way. Eventually they'll have to get in the water. Eventually they'll have to get out of the water. 

Eventually the birds must land. Either way, it's a constant tug of war between the two parts of them. 

The wind is harsh, unforgiving, cold in Alex's hair as they make their way down the street and John wraps his arm around Alex's waist, rubs at his side as if to warm him up. It doesn't help but it's nice nevertheless, John's cold hands, his wet hair tickling Alex's neck. He puts his own hand on the small of John's back, pulls him closer. He wants to kiss his neck, suddenly. Wants to taste the water and the salt on his skin. 

John leads him in, lets him slip into his bed. Kisses him, and his features are soft in the candlelight. Alex adores him like this: angles softened by affection and the light, nose cold, hair damp and frizzy. No hard edges, movements graceful and gentle as he pads around the room in search for more candles. 

Winter is fast approaching. The wind sends a chill into the room through the crack in the window, leaves Alex shivering. It'll make this harder. It'll force them into John's tiny bathtub. 

Alex moves around underneath the blankets a little bit, gets comfortable. The sun is setting over the sky. It feels closer than usual, now, looming over them in all of its heavy beauty. The peach pink of it is littered by tiny white clouds. It reminds Alex of freckles. Reminds him of John. 

John slips under the covers, settles so that he's got his arms over Alex's body, head tucked on his shoulder. Chest to chest. Hip to hip. Alex slots his leg between John's thighs, presses his nose into his damp hair. He smells like crispy autumn air and river water. Smells like his John.

**Author's Note:**

> title's from shark by oh wonder
> 
> dont ask me about any of the historical things in this this whole thing is just a giant shrug emoji google would not tell me anything except that there indeed was no running water in the 18th century and no one ever bathed so whatever 
> 
> friend: you know how people used to just completely hide their necks in photos and stuff  
> me: yeah  
> friend: i have this theory that people evolved from fish and they hid their necks to hide their gills  
> me: thats dumb  
> also me: writes this fic about historical people having gills and being mermaids it's fine
> 
> come yell at me on tumblr @lcfayctte & give me weird prompts


End file.
